Wild Horses
'Formal Hall ' ---- :''The spacious dining room is richly adorned, from the amber-and-biinwood wallpanels to the gold chandeliers above. A long, wide rectangular table is situated in the center of the room, flanked on all sides by a multitude of high-backed biinwood armchairs, polished a deep crimson hue. The interior of the seats are cushioned with plush red velvet, and appears quite comfortable. :''Inlaid in the far walls to either side are large fireplaces, and an aroma of spiced meat permeates the room. Golden candelabras flicker between the wall paintings, creating a warm, rich atmosphere. The table is covered with a dark plum colored cloth, and is set for twelve people. The utensils made of polished silver. A door at the other back of the room leads to the Kitchen. ---- As a cold evening sets upon Fastheld, and the chill of darkness covers the land, the moon in Aegisview Keep is one that is both somber and bitter in equal measure. Not that there's anyone around to BE either somber or bitter, but the taint of the Vozhd-Kahar seems set within the very stone of the wall. In fact the Keep literally enshrines the former glory of that splinter House, with paintings and heraldry of Vozhd long since gone still covering most of the walls. And most don't look very happy, really. Still, within the Formal Hall of the Keep, those of true Imperial blood don't seem too bothered by the vengeful spirits that prowl and curse the name of Prince Serath Kahar for forsaking their sub-House and putting an end to six hundred years of living the good life. The Prince himself can be found within that Formal Hall, sat behind an oak desk that seems to have been dragged into the area for the simple purpose of his visit. Thus, the Wildcat sits behind that desk in the middle of the hall, clad in a midnight-black shade of ringmail armor that seems a few shades darker than the usual charcoal hue of the obsidian ringmail currently found in Fastheld. One might therefore conclude that it's probably the real deal: Pathfinder Ringmail. Upon the desk in front of him rests a small stack of various documents and signed parchments, a year's supply of ink, more quills than even an Archer holds, and two black gloves stacked atop of each other. Serath himself appears to be amused but... pretty bored. The scratch of quill against parchment is a common noise. "It always was ostentatious." The words are quiet, delivered to nobody in particular-- In fact; they come from a figure that seems less remarkable than the portraits she passes. She's a petite woman-- Clad in a black leather greatcloak, lined with wolf fur, and thick wool garments that are warm but otherwise entirely unremarkable. Sahna Nillu moves beyond the entryway at a fair clip, boots sounding staccato on the ancient floors of Aegisview Keep. Reaching the entry to the main hall, she pulls her hood back-- Freckles and a tattoo both in stark relief against skin pale from the cold. "Well, look who's home, so to speak. Is your grace busy, or shall I pester you with my presence?" She queries, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "It'd be a welcome diversion from signing my name while the dead scowl at me." the regal purr of the Wildcat answers without the Prince himself looking up while quill and ink scratch the surface of yet another document. Another. Another. And then those distinctive ice-blue eyes of the direct Imperial Bloodline glance up to fall upon the Countess herself. "Lady Sweetwater," he offers in greeting, gesturing to one of the many red velvet biinwood chairs that are neatly arranged around the hall. Without the shroud of leather over his hands, the various thin scars from where chainmail was unable to prevent the bite of steel are somewhat noticeable as he gestures. Nothing repulsive, but pale lines that are curious by that tone of color alone. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Take a seat. Take them all. It doesn't really matter anymore." Whatever he means by that is hidden behind one of those roguish smiles. "I know the feeling. You know, the last time I was in this keep was when Eden and I came to visit Markus. I walked in on Gabriella in his bed, for of course perfectly natural and reasonable reasons, and I threw a chair through one of those giant windows upstairs." Sahna responds, wearing a remarkably chipper expression at the memory. She approaches the desk, reaching up to unclasp the greatcloak from around her throat. "Oh, don't mind if I do.. I was across town supervising things at the Warren, and I needed the break." She settles into the velvety upholstery, folding her gloved hands in her lap. "Mm. No, I fully believe an excess of chairs in one's life is distinctly hazardous. " Sahna glances around the hall, then back at the Kahar with her own sage-green eyes. "These two keeps are sad things, really. They have no purpose to exist, anymore." "I was thinking of turning this one over to the Imperial Watch." Serath remarks, leaning back in his own borrowed seat for a moment before rubbing his eyes with the balls of his palms, eliciting a light sigh caused by repressed boredom at all the administration work. "Let them make something of the place. Give it a decent name, and relocate from the East Aegis Garrison. It'd seem to make sense. I think they'd be better served spread out a little." The Prince shrugs at that thought, places his hands back on the deck, taps the left one against the deck once or twice, and then - for lack of anything better to do with them - rests them atop each other in front of him. "Still, a chair through the window probably improved the place a little. It's too stuffy in here. Full of..." he makes a face, "Vozhdian... ah... fluff." "That's not a bad idea. I'm having the Warren re-used for parts, myself... It's expensive to maintain, and there's been a pretty bad mold problem that's come up recently." Sahna replies, smile broadening. "Fluff... Is not the word I'd use. I really admire the direction you've taken Freehaven in.” Glancing down at her hands, Sahna adds, "I also wanted to thank you for house Kahar's involvement in the Sweetwater Road project. It's finished now, and the boon to trade is incredible. You may greatly dislike all the paperwork, but you're an able administrator, to say the least." Serath smiles warmly at that, evidently not expecting such a compliment. "Well, it's not so much about being an administrator when you're the Prince. I figured that I might as well put the title to good use within my own House before people forgot what it meant. You'll find a Sovereign's wrath manages to get *quite* a lot done when used against the right people. The wrong ones too!" He gestures to the hall itself; a sweeping motion that one might consider to be directed at the whole of Freehaven beyond the walls. "As for this place, well... the Vozhdian influence ran too deep for it to ever feel like the Kahar city that it once was. House Kahar doesn't really need it, regardless of what some people may say, and it gets the People behind us a little more. That's where the real power is, upon the backs of which the Empire was built, as they say. So we lose a city, but gain the hearts of the people, the respect of the Watch, and a better standing with House Zahir." The Prince lowers his voice a little, "Which, considering the current developments regarding myself and the Emperor, is something that needs to be maintained." The smile fades, at that, and Sahna regards Serath with a much more serious expression. "To an extent, Serath, I don't think it'd be possible for people to forget house Kahar entirely. After this many centuries of it being the royal house, a year of a Zahir, however capable he is, is still just that." She leans back in her chair, sable brows lowering, ponderously. "Are these current developments something I can ask about? I've been... out of touch. Well, I've been in touch, but only with the personal disasters that I've been causing. I'm not even on speaking terms with my mother, now. Believe me, if you want to talk about it, I'd /love/ to hear about something that isn't my fault." "Trouble in House Nillu?" The Prince inquires with a tilt of his head; but his tone suggests that the question isn't intended to go anywhere, but exists merely as a statement of fact. A brow quirks as he considers Sahna in relation to that development, but lets it pass with a smile and a slight nod of affirmation. "You can, just as long as you're not here to tell me how selfish I am for "abandoning" the Throne. I get that enough as it is. If I'd taken it, I would have been selfish for putting political desires above the need of the Empire. For putting the needs of the Empire above political desires, I'm selfish for "running away" from my duty." The Wildcat gives a helpless shrug, but one with a resigned smile all the same. "I can't win that one." "Quite." Sahna responds, tapping the tattoo on her cheek. "I suppose Kahar doesn't have to worry about this dilemma, since none of you are 'Touched, but it's playing merry havoc with everyone else. At least with being a noble, most people are too polite to mention it." She levels a dry look in Serath's direction, adding in her sharp contralto, "Maybe I thought that at first, but I don't think of it that way now. I wasn't a close friend of your brother, but I /do/ remember the way he looked when we went out to pull him back into the local wall-clad cesspit. He looked happy and healthy, and Fastheld took that away from him." She squares back her shoulders, adding, "This last month or so, I tried to be selfish and actually find some happiness for a change, myself. I honestly think it's impossible within the framework of how things are for some people to carry out their obligations without being destroyed inside. I wish we'd left him outside to sail in that boat of his. " "Don't blame yourself," Serath offers in a tone softer than before. A tone no doubt containing a twinge of pain at the topic in question. "Talus is..." a pause, a sigh, "*Was* as stubborn as I am. If he hadn't made the choice to return of his own free will, no one could have forced him to come back. Neither Dragons nor Shadow nor Light could stand against that determination. As for that mark..." One of those guilty-yet-helplessly-so expressions falls upon his visage, complete with but the smallest of smiles to go with it. "I wasn't planning on saying anything, considering I had a hand or two in it. There are worse things in Fastheld than old carpenters that just about manage to set their hearth on fire by looking at it for an hour or two. Far worse than farmers who don't understand how they manage to turn a bad crop good by praying to the Light for some kind of intervention. That they get the shadow instead seems but a bitter irony in that light. That Shadow could produce faith in the Light." "Self-pity is for people who don't have anything better to do. I don't exactly blame myself, but I do wish I'd, ah.. I don't know.." She hitches her thin shoulders in a shrug and adds, tapping the tattoo, "He knew what I was, and I was supposed to help him out when it came to Shadow Touched things. It feels like I was blindsided, when I was supposed to be the one who knew what was going on. Failure is a small, ugly feeling." Raising her chin, Sahna adds, "The problem is the unmarked mages, Serath. I know three, currently. I keep finding them, people who despair of losing the lives they've worked so hard for. What am I going to say to a man married to a zealot of a Mikin? Or a bard? Or a merchant who didn't even know he was touched, but suddenly faces the floor dropping out from under him? I don't know what to /do/. I don't think my faith in the Light was ever strong, but now? I don't think I believe in the massive battle between good and evil at all. It's all just a muddle, where people get knocked down and kicked repeatedly by life." "That battle?" Serath notes with the utmost sincerity, "Is there, Sahna. The way people understand it as it was taught by the Church of True Light is not. If anything, the battle between Light and Shadow that the Church proclaimed is but a mere footnote. It's not that open, it's far more subtle, insidious, and destructive. We see it as Scourge against Mage in a time span that carries over a day, perhaps two. Short conflicts easily resolved. The Light of Truth shines and burns away the shadow." He shakes his head, and there's a suggestion of *knowing* within his voice and body language. "It's not that simple. But it's not for you to worry about, either. These unmarked mages? Say to them nothing. The choice has to be a personal one or else it holds no meaning. How can you sincerely claim that you will cause no mischief and be able to hold back the darkness when you don't understand it? And those that do understand it, and seek to cause harm with it, will have to answer to the Light." The Wildcat smiles, "Not to the Church, though. Although some may get caught in the crossfire, but that's out of our control." "Dragons and wildlings." Sahna replies, with a bittersweet smile. "It's all drakes and wildlings to me, Serath.. Powerful and incomprehensible. It's all...” She gestures with an arm, "Beyond me. I'm just a provincial country squire now, with businesses and holdings here and there. When I was on the council, I felt connected to Fastheld. Now? I'm the footnote." Crossing her legs at the ankle, she watches Serath with a quizzical expression. "I don't want to pressure them, but Zolor knew what I was. If the same thing happens to them, well, allow me to say I still have the occasional night terror about lessening. “She taps at her chest, adding, "I had Luminary training. I understand the basics, the concepts, at least as far as we understood it. That training just isn't /available/ anymore. Almost all of the ones I know are a danger to themselves and others without it. " Well, that changes things. A finger tapping against the desk once more, the Prince considers the possible ramifications of his advice in the wake of what Sahna not reveals to him, finally reaching a conclusion. "Then I suppose the thing to do," he muses, "Would be to save them from themselves. Are you capable of that, Sahna?" Sahna shoots Serath an odd look, making a face. "I don't understand, Serath." She answers, frowning. "I /want/ to help them, but the ones I know don't have the same affinities I do. There used to be a handful of people who knew how to train mages.. To start with, you counter the initial shock and self-loathing that's almost inevitable. You either get that, or on more rare occasions, someone who reverses it and starts blaming everyone else and society for holding them back. Either way, that's the time when there's the most chance of self-destructive or destructive behavior on purpose.. It's _easy_ to lose it when everything you've been brought up to believe tells you that you're the worst peice of scum to crawl out of the pond. You either have to reconcile what you are with what you believe, or cope with it through some other mechanism, like going bog-ape crazy." Standing from the chair, Sahna adds, "That part, I've been trying to help with. It's different for everyone, but so far the handful I've met have come to terms more quickly than I did." “After that, the danger is the lack of training." She gestures with both hands, clearly frustrated. "Beyond learning how to bring your gifts out and use them without achieving undesired results, there's the self-control that it takes -not- to use them flagrantly. That was the second point of major risk, and I am a prime example of it, myself. One of my affinities involves being able to set people on fire, and I have a fairly strong temper. Which is why Adaer Kahar doesn't have a hair on his head right now, and I'm lucky that's all it was. The self-control is difficult to cultivate once you're marked, because it almost feels like a 'permission' of sorts. Before, the idea was to suppress all instincts whatsoever for fear of being caught, and failure was deadly." "Now, the opposite is even more of a danger. Take Diorsalus Moonglow, for example, a marked mage who resides in Sweetwater. He can run faster than a normal man could, and I've seen him using it just to get places. It could be argued that since we can do these things, doesn't that give us a right to do them? Or, is the reverse true, where a mark should mean shame and even stronger self-control? " Serath listens, intently, as Sahna debates the various sociological and theological angles of being Shadow Touched with herself, letting her get it all off her chest without getting in the way of the questioning and the analysis of the nature of the self. "It gives you the right, of course," the Prince finally states, his voice a bastion of calm and clarity when contrasted against the storm of Sahna's fears and doubts, "But the Shadow is... it's like giving someone that doesn't know how to ride very well their own warhorse. They have every right to ride that horse across the Empire. However, the people that get in that rider's way have a right not to get trampled on in the process. The Mark you take to say to the People of the Empire that you won't trample on them if they let you ride that horse, and that anyone you trample underneath your hooves /really/ deserved to be there." He sighs all the same, "But what you're not going to get, Sahna, is people getting over six hundred years of loathing in a few days. It'll take time. Maybe ten years. Maybe a hundred. Change is a hard thing to accept. Just look at all these people that are spitting feathers over women being allowed into the Imperial Watch. But the Shadow *is* dangerous, and it needs to be regulated in its use, lest we bring about a second Cataclysm." A pause, and he continues. "We're balancing acceptance with caution, and putting trust into something that is, without a doubt, deadly if abused. All of this sits atop hundreds of years of fear and distrust; fear and distrust that is well placed. We just have to hope that the benefits of being able to practice in the open is worth the cost of the social impact. For many it might seem like a prison. For many others, it's freedom." She sits back down in her chair, with a huff, looking somewhat.. Relieved to have ranted for a while. "Yes, I see what you mean, and I do agree. But Serath, what's to stop the people of the empire from trampling /us/, when they see it? That's why the unmarked business is so much of a problem. Before, nobody could see us unless we make a mistake. Now, an aura reader can, easily, or anyone at all if we're marked. We become open to the judgment of every single man and woman we pass." "There isn't going to be a real parity in my lifetime, I'm certain.. And if anything goes wrong, it'll go worse, because people /need/ those who are different from them to hate. I'm still trying my best, but Fastheld is full of warhorses aimed at the people I care about." She folds her gloved hands, staring down at them. "I don't expect miracles, Serath.. But nor am I willing to accept any persecution of other mages. On whole, we don't deserve it. I'm protected because I'm a noblewoman, but some of the response has been downright ugly... Ask Kael Firelight, if you want a more accurate picture. I _do_ believe in the agreement of taking the mark and regulating it, because I'm one of the people who sees it as a freedom. That doesn't make it any easier to know how to talk to the people who see it as the worst thing ever to possibly happen to them." "Contrast it with all the people who weren't Shadow Touched but died as one anyway because other accused them of such to meet their own agenda." Serath replies in turn, short and to the point. "That's not so easy to do anymore. From what I understand, the ability for one Mage to see another is nothing new. The difference now is that those who harbor the Shadow can protect or accuse their own, and speak for those who have no darkness within. Things have changed but, when we consider how they were just a few months ago, can you really tell me that these new fears are as justified as people claim? True that before the amnesty you were permitted some degree of anonymity if you decided never to embrace a defining aspect of yourself, but... to what end? Denying what you are to meet social acceptance just doesn't seem right to me." Sahna nods, adamantly. "Yes, and thank goodness for that. I remember what happened to Rayk, poor sod. Look, I'm not arguing against the amnesty... I never expected such progress in my lifetime as it is. The idea of a mage corps working for Zolor worries me, mind you, but not enough that I'm going to fight against the tide here." She drapes one arm over the back of her chair, frowning slightly. "No, it always did feel wrong. It's just how things were, and believe me or not, I am glad to have the mark now that I'm used to it. That doesn't change the fact that it was and still is terrifying at times, mind you, because it still is." Serath inclines his head in a soft gesture of understanding and affirmation, placing one hand atop the other upon the table in front of him once more, idly stroking a long thin scar across the back of his left hand with the thumb of his right. The paperwork, the ink, the small regiment of quills, all forsaken. "It's that fear," he states with a soft smile, "that gives me hope that you won't attempt to burn half of Fastheld to the ground at some point in the future. In the end, that's all we can hope for. You declare to the Empire and her People that you will do no evil, and then..." Spreading his hands in a gesture of an open statement, the previous placing of one atop the other is quickly sundered. "You become your own custodians, and forge your own fate. You're not as alone as you think, though. The Mark protects you under the Imperial Law, and there are few powers in Fastheld quite as great as that." Sahna makes a face and replies in a half-teasing tone, "Hey, those buildings never did anything to me. I assure you, I'd balk at that much financial property damage. I wouldn’t be able to bear it." Leaning back, she adds with a wistful smile, "The one time I lost control, during the fight with Adaer, I was half hysterical when I realized what I'd almost done. No, I don't think I'd be able to do it willingly unless it was a life-threatening situation, or with better reasons than anger. I have a bad temper, and I'm still only human, but even I can see the danger of allowing such public retribution using the gifts. It'd set a destructive precedent that would undo everything, eventually. I'll just have to stick to mundane means." She adds, with a wry smile, "Unfortunately, I won't be able to go on this latest trip beyond the wall anymore, which would've been a chance to forge some bonds and do something exciting." "I wouldn't be too sure," the Prince offers with a smile and look perhaps *too* knowing within the icy depths of those eyes, "You might be dodging the proverbial arrow with that decision. The Wildlands are not be taken lightly. It's not the fun jaunt across a field of blossoms that people seem to think it is. But..." he sighs, leans back in his chair, and streeeeetches, "I digress. Digress and suspect that the sun is tired of all this paperwork and has given up for the day. So I probably should too. Knowing myself as well as I do, I expect that I'll spend the rest of tonight entertaining Rowena with various names to call this place. Fort Wildhammer. Fort Doomstone." A pause. "Fort Parasite would be apt, but I think I've upset the Vozhdians enough already." "It's a chance at the unknown, to do something more valuable than dealing with tenants and farmland." Sahna replies, with a wry chuckle. "I do know it's dangerous, honest, but that doesn't mean it still wasn't the chance of a lifetime. Well, a second one, anyhow." She places a hand on one hip and comments, "Fort Nostalgia?" She comments, with a laugh. "Then again, that's not right either. Well, I'll leave you be for the night, Serath. Let me know if you ever need my help for anything.. I'm awfully bored these days, in general." Pushing his chair back away from his table, and thus getting his legs free of the space that rests under that table, Serath nods a quick affirmation towards Sahna. "Well, I'm likely to be here for another few days yet before I vanish into the enigmatic mists of the mythos that is Serath Kahar, errant Prince and all that. So, if you need *me* for anything else, just drop by. The Keep is virtually empty as it is." Sahna pulls her cloak on, working the catch at her throat. "Thank you, Serath, that's kind of you to offer." She responds, shooting him a thoughtful glance. "You have no shadow-touched people in your house, hm? Or was it just... Kahar mothers or something? I'm not even sure how much of that was an old-wives tale. Did the entire bloodline emerge unscathed?" "Pure blood." The Prince replies, rubbing his elbow, "Some Vozhdians were Touched. Not many, but I recall Talus telling me that a few were documented." At that the Wildcat looks back up at Sahna and smiles, "The males got the curse, too, so... raw deal all around." Sahna asks suddenly, gaze sharp, "The curse, tied to the wall and everything.. Do you think it's possible to break it now? It was what, set by the people who raised the wall? The wall is crumbling. Maybe just a little, or in certain places, but do you think it's possible to do something about it now? Eden had it fairly easy, he just had no sense of smell, but that isn't always the case." The Wildcat Prince returns Sahna's gaze at her line of reasoning; the chill of his ice-blue gaze meeting the sharpness of Sahna's own and matching it almost perfectly, yet for reasons entirely different. For a moment there is only perfect clarity in the Formal Hall, as if the storm of every day life had been suddenly pushed back and replaced with utter serenity and calm. The sensation seems to be in the very air itself: a region of clean benediction that permits no darkness nor doubt. Fire within the ice, the Prince speaks again, yet his voice seems to hold some deep, underlying sincerity behind it that one might only describe as devout and confident in equal measure. "I'm not sure," he offers, every word spoken evenly, "but I intend to try." "Good." Sahna responds, contralto low, soft, and firm. "Let me know what, if anything, I can do. A young male child doesn't deserve to suffer for something that happened many centuries ago. Whatever it was intended as, the result is something old and malevolent." She pulls up her hood, arranging the wolfskin-lined cloak about her sparse figure for warmth. "Good night, Serath." Turning on a booted heel, Sahna strides past the disapproving portraits without sparing them a glance. ---- ''Return to Season 5 (2007) Category:Logs